


Can't get worse

by snarled_musings



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, slight crack, sort of from one side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarled_musings/pseuds/snarled_musings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever you think you've hit rock bottom, you find there can be a new low for you. eventually things can only look up, though!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't get worse

**Author's Note:**

> SO SORRY for posting this. I'm actually half asleep, but this little cracky thing still screamed in my head. A bit of smut at the end, nothing too explicit. Now I'll go to sleep...

John stared ahead in a vague sort of detached horror as he listened to Harold rallying the troops. He'd tried to convince Harold he was fine, that it wasn't necessary. Harold had tossed him an empty mag, which he'd caught and promptly dropped with a yell of pain. Now he just sat there, hearing Harold delegating assignments and numbers to the others. He gritted his teeth in pain and frustration. Things had not gone accordingly to his plans.

 

Harold turned to him, a frown of worry on his face. ”How are you doing? Is it unbearable?”

 

He gritted his teeth and shook his head. ”I've had worse. I'll be fine, Finch.”

 

”What were you thinking, Mr. Reese?” The disapproval was almost tangible. John sighed in irritation.

 

”That I didn't feel like being blown up. That's actually on my top-five list of ways I don't want to die.”

 

”I still don't understand what you had to do in that meth lab at the first place.” John gave him a stony glare.

 

”I was trying to stop the guy cooking meth, Finch. I hadn't planned on him setting fire to those chemicals, and they would have made the whole thing explode. It seemed like a sensible thing to toss the thing to hell.”

 

Harold's frown deepened. ”With you bare hands?” John's frown matched Harold's as he growled:

 

”It wasn't like I had time to find an oven mitt or something. Could you please just get us back so I can clean this mess up?” The last sentence was bit out in a tone that clearly stated what he really thought. It wasn't like he'd planned to injure himself, but he wasn't keen on dying either. That train had passed a long time ago, nowadays he tried to grab life by the throat and run with it. He looked down on his hands. By the looks of it he'd just try to kick life and stagger along with it for a while. His earwig came to life.

 

”Hey Reese?” He hung his head and sighed.

 

”Yes, Shaw?”

 

”You need to work on your juggling act; you kinda suck at it. Was this how you worked for the agency? No wonder you got burned!” He could hear the grin in her voice. It would be a while before he could throttle her to death for the double entendre. He resisted the urge to face-palm, it would only be painful, and sighed again..

 

”The next number coming your way? Do you want correct intel on it or not?”

 

”Yeah, so I'll let Finch handle it. You got your fingers in enough pies. Oh wait, no you won't for a while!” He growled again and reached up to terminate the call. The movement drew a hiss of pain; he glared at his ruined hands. Harold looked slightly amused, despite the worry on his face.

 

”I do wish you kids could just play nice.” John leaned his head against the headrest. Things just couldn't get worse.

 

* * *

 

It hurt like hell to have his hands rinsed and cleaned to remove any possible residue of the chemicals. Thankfully the burns were only second-degree, unfortunately they covered practically every inch of his hands. A few blisters had already burst, oozing nastily. He ground his teeth together hard enough to crack molars as Harold smeared them in antiseptic ointment and then wrapped them in gauze. It looked like he wore mittens; at least he wouldn't get an infection. He slumped down in a chair, looking down at himself. He felt miserable. He hated having Harold see him in sweats, he hated him having to patch him up, he hated needing help. He hated feeling like a petulant three-year-old. Which decidedly was how he felt at the moment. Bear must have picked up on his mood as he went over and plopped down on his feet. It drew a smile from him, it was hard staying in a bad mood when the dog looked at him like that. He stretched slightly, made himself comfortable and closed his eyes. For a while he drifted off, slumbering lightly. Maybe this wasn't _all_ bad, at least he might be able to catch up on some sleep. Vaguely he heard Harold on the phone, but he didn't care enough to try and figure out who it was. Probably Fusco or Carter; Shaw would have called him to torment him further. She was capable, ruthless, but a huge pain in the ass. Sometimes he regretted their decision to let her on board.

 

”Detective Carter sends her well-wishes. Are you hungry?” When Harold mentioned it he was suddenly starving. He cracked an eye open lazily.

 

”I could eat, yeah.”

 

”I'll fix something light.” Harold bent down to give him a quick kiss. Yeah, there might be perks to this, after all. At least that was what he imagined until he stared from the sandwich in front of him to his hands. Harold followed his eyes and opened his mouth. John glared at him.

 

”I will not be fed! I refuse to let you feed me like a helpless infant. I'll have some soup, anything I can eat through a straw. I'll just stay on a liquid diet for a few days.” Harold opened his mouth again and John leveled him a death-glare. It was ungrateful, but he would not be reduced to some sort of helpless bundle. He had some dignity, after all. Harold sighed, shook his head and got up to heat some soup. John sighed. Things just couldn't get worse.

 

* * *

 

After drinking down his soup he asked Harold to put on some music. He closed his eyes and dozed some more, finally dozing off on the couch. He woke up a few hours later and got to his feet awkwardly. It was amazing how much one used hands without thinking about them. He staggered down the hallway before he froze. Oh no. His eyes widened slightly. His shoulders sagged and he went back to the couch. This wasn't happening. Half an hour later he had to admit that it was. This was just ridiculous. He mentally went through his options. They were ranging from embarrassing to humiliating. He made a quick second assessment. Nope, still no other viable options. He squirmed slightly, before getting to his feet again. Defeated he went to look for Harold. He refused to look at him as he hung his head.

 

”Finch? I- I need your help. I need to go to the bathroom.” His face burned. Harold put a comforting hand on his shoulder and steered him down the corridor. Not one word was said during the whole ordeal, which in John's mind took forever. He'd never felt more embarrassed. Harold gave him a quick hug.

 

”It's okay. I've been through much worse.” John hid his face against his shoulder, stooping slightly.

 

”I haven't.” He flushed even harder as Harold adjusted his sweats. This had to be rock bottom.

 

* * *

 

He got help to turn the TV on and lay back on the couch, moping and miserable, still embarrassed. Harold kept plying him with drinks, which he tried to avoid, until his partner actually sounded irate with him. For real. Which made him even more mopey. Finally he gave up, tried to accept that he was damn near close to infancy-stage, and went to sleep to ignore the whole shitty thing. When he woke up it was full dark outside. He glanced at the TV and flushed. It was past midnight, that much was clear thanks to the porn on TV. He looked for the remote but couldn't find it. Insult to injury he was hardening inside his sweats. It was an involuntary reaction that the thin material of the sweats did nothing to hide. When he heard Harold's soft laugh he just wanted to curl up and die. Or possibly cry. He didn't even like porn!

 

”I see you're keeping yourself entertained, John.” John buried his head in the cushion, thinking his head might explode from blushing. He felt the couch dip slightly as Harold sat down next to him. ”I bet I could do better.” The voice had dropped, grown silky. ”Turn over.” Still blushing, keeping his eyes shut he turned so he was lying on his back. Harold made a soft hum of approval and ran a finger along the hard ridge in his sweats. His hips twitched and he made a small sound. Harold gave a soft chuckle and cupped him, giving him a gentle rub. John's back arched slightly as he bit his lip. ”Don't hold back. I love how you sound.” The firm hand snaked itself into the sweats and his back arched a bit more. Harold, always a man of opportunity, took the chance to shove the sweats down. If he wasn't so turned on he'd feel totally stupid. As it was now his cock gave a twitch and pulsed against his stomach. Harold made a sound of approval as he twisted around to get comfortable. Finally he seemed to be where he wanted to be, and a hot, wet mouth closed over John's erection. This time he didn't even bother to hold the groan back as his hips pushed up slightly. Harold gave a breathless chuckle around him before increasing the suction slightly, taking him deeper. He went agonizingly slow, until John bumped the back of his throat.

 

”Ah, Jesus, that's...” his voice trailed off into a loud moan. He had to bite his lip again or it would be over humiliatingly fast. Harold set a hard pace, reaching under him to cup his buttocks. He rocked John upwards, helping him fuck Harold's mouth. Fuck it, he decided as his body tensed and strained up to find release. For once he was completely selfish, thrusting into that hot mouth, reveling in the small sounds Harold made, countering them with moans and groans of his own. He tossed his head back, fucking up into that hot cavern in abandon. His gut tensed; a tingling sensation spread from his arms and legs, gathering in his groin. He reared up, shuddering and moaning as he spurted in Harold's mouth. His partner swallowed every drop before pulling back with a smug grin. John fell back, boneless and sated. Maybe this wasn't all bad, after all.


End file.
